Red Letter
by thetyger
Summary: A series of one-shots about our favourite Mentalist characters, updated daily in sequences. Each prompt has been written by both myself and 'Cliara Aedai' in two seperate stories, with the goal of seeing how much they differ. All the stories will be pretty different, and they're heaps of fun to write! And read Cliara Aedai's stories, they're under 'Scarlet Snow'. Enjoy!
1. break

**Red Letter**

**A/N: Okay, so basically my friend Cliara Aedai and I have decided to start this thing where we come up with a word, and then both of us write a Mentalist one shot, incorporating that word into it. Then we see how different our stories are! The word limit is 500, and we'll try to post about one a day each on our accounts. At the moment we've come up with 10 words each, so we'll post every day until all 20 are up! Hers are under 'Scarlet Snow' if you wanna read them too! Enjoy…**

**Sadly, I do not own the Mentalist, or its fantabulous characters**

* * *

**Word - **'break' **Word Count - **480

A loud smashing sound came from the kitchen of the CBI, earning a startled reaction from the members of the serious Crimes Unit, who were sorting through pages of notes in the bullpen.

Van Pelt's head shot around to face the direction of the sound, Lisbon dropped her pile of papers and Rigsby jumped so high he fell of his chair, landing on his side with a loud thump. Cho was the only one who managed to stay calm, though he broke his usual straight face, smirking down at Rigsby as he lay groaning on the floor.

"What was that?" Van Pelt asked, peering across to the doorway from her chair.

Seconds later, a figure moved into the doorway, blond hair slightly ruffled, a forlorn look on his face.

"Jane, what did you do?" Lisbon questioned with an exasperated sigh.

He didn't answer, instead raising his right hand from where it was resting at his side. It was clenched into a fist, and he opened it slowly, revealing a cluster of tiny blue shards.

"You broke your teacup?" gasped Rigsby in mock horror. "How the hell did you break your teacup?!"

He didn't answer.

Van Pelt turned to hide a chuckle, placing a hand in front of her mouth, and Lisbon forced her face into an expression of sympathy.

Jane scowled at Rigsby's lack of understanding, remaining silent. He closed his fingers over the smashed remains of his treasured teacup, then folded his arms across his body in annoyance.

"Jane, look, there are heaps and heaps of other teacups and mugs in the cupboards, just use one of them" Lisbon told him, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous exaggeration of the situation.

"Yes, I know, but they're not the same" he complained.

"What do you mean they're not the same?" Rigsby asked sceptically. 'It's just a teacup Jane."

"No, it is _not _just a teacup" he replied, outraged.

"No, you're right, it's a broken teacup" Cho commented, completely straight faced.

Jane frowned, turning his back on his colleagues and moving over to the corner of the room where he flopped onto the worn, brown, couch. He then leant back, closing his eyes and ignoring everything and everyone around him.

"Come on Jane" Lisbon begged. "Look, I'll get you a new bloody teacup, just stop this nonsense."

He didn't open his eyes, simply holding out an open palm expectantly, waiting for the replacement he'd just been promised.

* * *

Less than half an hour later, Lisbon returned looking tired and flustered. She stormed briskly into the bullpen holding a plastic bag in her hand.

"Here" she said, thrusting the bag and its contents into his outstretched hand, which had remained in the exact same position the entire time she'd been gone.

"Thankyou" he smiled.

"I should think so" she grumbled in return.

And so the CBI returned to its normal daily routine.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Please review, and also read Cliara Aedai's story!**


	2. rhythmic

**A/N: Hi guys! Thanks for the review from Abigaya Moreel! Well, and the one from Cliara Aedai, although I don't know if it technically counts since we're kinda doing this together... But your support is greatly appreciated!**

**But anyways,this next word was a bit tricky to come up with an idea for, and as a result my story is kinda random... I hope you like it anyway, and please read Cliara Aedai's version as well! And please review!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own the Mentalist :(**

* * *

**Word - **'rhythmic' **Word Count - **442

Lisbon and her team were seated at a rectangular wooden table, the local restaurant buzzing with activity.

It had been a long day, but after finally solving the case they'd been working on, a good meal was definitely in order.

The waiter came around, and they each ordered, Rigsby getting a hamburger and chips, Cho a steak and Jane got his usual eggs. The two girls asked for pastas. They also got a bottle of wine for the table, though Jane stuck to tea.

They discussed the case they'd closed just hours before, which had involved the murder of a young woman. It turned out she'd discovered her brother's tendency to steal large amounts of cash from the bank they both worked at, and had threatened to turn him in. He hadn't particularly liked that idea.

As the evening wore on, however, the conversation turned to topics of a much more light-hearted nature.

"Did you know that slugs have four noses?" Rigsby said randomly, earning him a confused look from his colleagues.

"Umm… no? Should I?" Lisbon asked, completely perplexed.

"No" Rigsby replied. "It was just this random fact I read about the other day."

"You read facts for _fun_?" Cho said, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, why not?" Rigsby answered, though he was blushing slightly.

"Very interesting" Jane nodded thoughtfully, and Lisbon couldn't work out whether he was being sarcastic or serious.

"Well, did _you _know, more people use blue toothbrushes than red ones?" Jane announced.

"And knowing that is going to improve my life _how_?" Van Pelt queried.

"I dunno, but it's interesting."

"It really isn't" Cho told him.

A waitress brought around the bottle of wine, as well as Jane's tea. He picked up the teaspoon that had been resting on the saucer, and began twirling it around with the tips of his fingers.

Rigsby picked up the larger dessert spoon beside his plate and began tapping it gently against his glass.

"Stop it" Van Pelt laughed, punching him playfully on the arm.

When he ignored her request completely, Jane joined in. Together they created a little tune with their cutlery.

"I swear, going out with you two is like dining with children" Lisbon muttered, shaking her head.

"Don't you like our song?" Jane asked as though he was disappointed and offended. _Exactly_ like a child.

"No" Lisbon replied simply.

"It's not very rhythmic" Van Pelt critiqued.

"It is perfectly rhythmic" Rigsby retorted. He tapped once again, though this time much harder than he had intended, and his glass crashed to the floor.

Lisbon rolled her eyes, and Jane covered his face with his napkin as he burst into hysterical laughter.


	3. brother

**A/N: Thanks again to Abigaya Moreel (and Cliara Aedai) for the reviews! Lovin' the support! Oh and also thanks to my friend who betas all my stories for me! (you know who you are!) You've been so amazing!**

**And I also just wanna say how ridiculously brilliant Cliara Aedai's stories have been! Please read and review her stories so she will finally agree with me!**

**Anyway, so I've named Lisbon's third brother 'Samuel' for this fic, since they haven't mentioned his real name in any episodes (trust me, I've checked!). I figured it fitted with Teresa, James and Thomas reasonably well. Hope you like it! Please reviewe!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist, despite the fact I have probably watched it more often than whoever does!**

* * *

**Word - **'brother'** Word Count - **499

Teresa stood at the kitchen counter, spreading butter on the eight slices of bread in front of her.

"Tommy, what do you want on your sandwich?" she called across the room to her brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table munching on a bowl of cereal along with her other two siblings.

"Peanut butter" he answered with his mouth full, milk dripping down his chin.

"Hey Reese, can I go to the skate park with Nate after school?" James asked.

"Only if you wear your helmet" she replied as she packed the lunches in four plastic containers along with an apple and a packet of chips.

"What?! Then I'll look like a complete dork" he groaned. "Nobody else wears helmets."

"You know that's not true, I've seen heaps of kids down there with helmets on. Besides, mum always told you to."

James remained silent at the mention of his mother. They didn't talk about it much, but her death had turned their world upside down. Now, with their father a violent alcoholic, Teresa had become the adult of the house at just twelve years of age.

"Sammy, where's your school bag?" she sighed, looking around the room.

"It's in my room" he answered, jumping up from his seat to retrieve it.

Seconds later he ran back, the backpack clutched in his hands, the contents spilling behind him.

She rolled her eyes and hurried to clean up the mess. One by one the boys finished their breakfast and scattered in different directions to get ready for school. Teresa was left to scull a glass of milk and quickly slurp up a small bowl of cereal. This was an unusual occurrence, as most mornings she simply didn't have time for eating.

She jogged down the hall to her bedroom, where she pulled on a t-shirt and grabbed a pair of jeans from her chest of drawers. She pulled a brush through her hair and tied it back into a ponytail, then returned to the kitchen less than a minute later where Tommy was waiting for her.

"Reese, I can't find my socks" he moaned.

"Really Tommy? Did you check at the end of your bed?" she questioned, so experienced at sock-finding that she didn't even need to look anymore.

Seconds later he returned, socks in hand.

"Hurry up boys" she called down the hallway, picking up the four bags and dragging them to the door. "Come on!" she yelled, and they finally arrived, Sam's hair completely ruffled and James shirt looking like it hadn't been ironed. _Ever._

She attempted to smooth out Sammy's hair with her palm, making a mental note to do the ironing after school.

"Bye dad" she called into the lounge room, where her dad was passed out on the couch, completely hung over with yet another bottle of beer at his side.

And so the Lisbon family set off for their half an hour walk to school, Teresa already exhausted despite the day only just beginning.


	4. persuasion

**A/N: Surprisingly I had a fair bit of trouble with this word, even though it seems pretty simple! The story turned out kinda random... but enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist :(**

* * *

**Word - **'persuasion' **Word Count - **358

Cho and Rigsby were seated side by side in the SUV, driving back for the case they'd just solved. Well, Jane had just solved, with a little of their assistance.

Rigsby yawned, pulling open the glove box.

"What are you doing?" Cho asked.

"Looking for something to eat, I'm starving" he answered.

"When are you _not _starving?" Cho questioned, straight faced, earning himself a glare.

They sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought.

"Please can we get something to eat" Rigsby begged, gazing out the window as they passed restaurants and fast-food outlets.

"Didn't you have a chocolate bar about five minutes ago?" Cho pointed out, shaking his head as he drove.

"Yeah, but it was just a chocolate bar. I need something more substantial" he explained, rubbing his stomach to emphasize the point. "So, can we stop?"

"No" he said.

"Oh, come on man" Rigsby practically pleaded.

"Nope."

Rigsby continued his persuasion tactics for another couple of minutes, and Cho remained uninterested until he'd finally had enough.

"Alright, alright. We'll go through a drive-through or something" he groaned, sick of his colleague's constant pestering.

Rigsby sat in silence, pleased with the result. Cho seemed happy too, the car devoid of any sound. Finally he could relax.

* * *

Cho pulled out of the drive-through a couple of minutes later, Rigsby happily munching on a hamburger. A look of irritation crossed Cho's face as he glanced at the horribly processed meal.

"Wow, so you can show emotion!" Rigsby gasped sarcastically, poking Cho's face in pretend awe at his expression of annoyance.

Cho simply raised his eyebrows. "Don't make a mess with that" he told him.

Seconds later sauce began dripping over the edge of the massive burger.

"If you don't be more careful with that you can walk back to the CBI."

"Jeez, calm down man, it's just a bit of sauce" he said, taking another huge bite.

As his jaw closed over his meal, a piece of lettuce fell, landing on the centre console.

Cho pulled over suddenly, and Rigsby glanced up in surprise having not even noticed the mess he'd just made.

"Out" Cho ordered.


	5. quote

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! **

**This fic is set before the season finale of season 4. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist. Yet.**

* * *

**Word - **'quote' **Word Count - **436

Jane sat patiently in Wainwright's office, gazing absently out of the window.

The door swung open suddenly, and Wainwright marched in, sitting down across from Jane and staring at him angrily.

"Hello Wainwright. How has your day been?" Jane asked pleasantly, as though oblivious o the trouble he was in yet again.

"I'm having a terrible day" Wainwright grumbled. "Do you know why that is?"

"Hmm, has your coffee gone cold?" Jane asked, looking in the direction of the half empty mug resting on Wainwright's desk.

"Yes it has, but that's not why my day is terrible. My day is terrible because of YOU!"

Jane sat silently for a second.

"Why do you have to cause so much trouble?" Wainwright asked, exasperated.

"She was asking for it" Jane defended, as though that was a perfectly valid excuse.

"I don't care how much she was asking for it Jane! She is a rich, powerful and influential woman. You can't afford to annoy people like that!" Wainwright lectured. "If the president 'was asking for it' would you annoy him?"

"Yes, probably" Jane nodded thoughtfully.

Wainwright rolled his eyes and crossed his arms against his chest.

"You think you're so smart, don't you" he cried in irritation.

"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool" Jane told him.

"What is that, a quote or something?" Wainwright groaned.

'William Shakespeare" Jane answered.

"Jane! Quoting Shakespeare is _not _going to get you out of this!" Wainwright cried, slamming his fist down on the desk.

"Well it should" he commented.

"You cannot call a retired, high profile lawyer an 'ignorant, irksome little pig'!

"Actually I called her a 'ridiculous, ignorant, irksome pig with no…'" Jane began correcting before he was interrupted.

"Look, I don't care what you called her, you need to apologise right now!" Wainwright ordered.

"What if I don't want to?" Jane asked seriously, as though it was a reasonable point.

"Then you'll be pulled off the case" he threatened.

"What if I told you she was the murder" Jane asked in exactly the same tone.

"I don't care what… Wait, what did you say?!"

"She killed her husband because he was cheating on her, and about to run off with the mistress and all her money" Jane informed him.

"And you didn't tell me this earlier why?" Wainwright steamed.

"Well, just telling you isn't much fun, I was going to make it much more interesting than that. Now you've spoiled it."

Wainwright breathed in heavily, then out, to calm himself down. 'At least he closes cases' he reassured himself silently.

* * *

**You know what I'm going to say... pretty pretty please review!**


	6. reset

**A/N: Greetings! I'd just like to thank everyone whose been reading these stories, especially those who have reviewed or followed! I get so excited when there's an email from fanfiction in my inbox! Cliara Aedai and I are having such a good time writing these one-shots, and your reviews make it all even better! So thanks heaps!**

**I thought the idea for this story was sooo cute! And sad too. I hope you guys like it! I had to cut it back heaps, I was way over the word limit! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist :(**

* * *

**Word - **'reset' **Word Count - **500

The tall, well built man rolled over in bed, groaning as the alarm clock beeped endlessly. He slammed his hand down on the snooze button, then attempted to reset the alarm. His fingers, clumsy from tiredness, finally managed this task, and he rolled over once again.

He closed his eyes, beginning to relax, when suddenly a call from the next room woke him up completely.

He pulled himself out of bed, making his way into the room.

"Hey Ben," he smiled, arms wide, embracing him into a hug.

"Daddy," he giggled, jumping up from his cot into his father's arms.

* * *

Many years earlier, _another_ man lay asleep, and was woken abruptly by his alarm. He too rolled over, hitting the snooze button, and closing his eyes again.

His wife put a hand on his shoulder, and they embraced. They lay like that for a moment, peacefully.

The pitter-patter of little feet made the man turn, and he saw his daughter, blonde ringlets billowing down her shoulder, a cheeky smile spread across her face.

"Daddy!" she cried, jumping up onto the bed with her parents. She huddled between them, comforted by their warmth.

"Hey Charlotte," her mother cooed warmly, kissing her on the cheek softly.

Her tiny arms encircling her mother's neck, and she giggled happily.

"Charlie, you wanna play for a bit before my first client comes?" her dad offered, and she jumped at the opportunity.

* * *

Rigsby was sitting cross-legged on the ground, a feat fairly difficult for a man of his size. Together he and Ben built tower after tower using wooden blocks, then laughed hysterically as they tumbled to the ground.

"So what are you going to do with mummy today?" he asked.

"Gonna paint!" Ben cried excitedly, clapping his hands together.

"That sounds like fun," Rigsby told him with a smile, "what are you going to paint?"

"I paint daddy fighting bad guys!"

Sarah appeared at the door, smiling at the two boys playing.

"Rigsby, you better get to work now, you're gonna be late."

"See you tonight little man," Rigsby said reluctantly, ruffling Ben's hair and kissing him on the head.

* * *

Charlotte peddled around the wide open house on her little pink tricycle, her dad not far behind, chasing her.

"Daddy's gonna get ya!" he called, and was answered with squeals of joy and mock terror.

The ding of the doorbell rang through the house, and both father and daughter looked disappointed.

"Already?" Charlotte groaned, jumping up from her seat and rushing to her dad, wrapping her arms around him.

"Yes, I'm sorry sweetie," he replied, just as regretful.

"Can we play when they leave?" she asked hopefully.

"Not today, Daddy's doing a TV interview, but definitely tomorrow."

* * *

That evening, when the two men returned from work, their seemingly similar lives became incredibly different. One hugged his child, who giggled and squirmed in his arms.

The other held his tight, tears streaming down his face as she lay unbreathing in his arms.


	7. man

**A/N: Wow! I am actally so greatful for all the reviews! And I got my highest number of visits so far today! (technically yesterday according to fan fic, I think because it goes by American time) Cliara Aedai and I are having such a good time writing these, so I'm so glad you're enjoying them! So thankyou all heaps, and keep reviewing!**

* * *

**Word - **'man' **Word Count - **499

Lisbon drove the SUV, Cho seated beside her. His head rested against the cool glass of the window as he read, turning page after page as Lisbon concentrated on the road.

Behind him sat Rigsby, iPod headphones in, a packet of chips in his hand. He hummed along to the tune, munching happily.

Van Pelt had drifted off, the movement of the car lulling her to sleep within half an hour of their setting off.

On the far side of the vehicle sat Jane. It seemed that he was simply gazing out the window, watching as the buildings passed by. But he was deep in thought, as usual, considering the case they were working on as well as another, the one he worked on constantly in his mind.

The car came to a sudden stop as Lisbon pulled into their destination, a small, run down shack half hidden by overgrown trees.

"Okay, the man we're looking for will be armed and very dangerous," Lisbon briefed her team. "We'll pair off, Cho and Van Pelt, Rigsby and me. Jane, you can wait in the car."

Jane sighed at his boring task, but obeyed without argument. Lisbon was pleasantly surprised with his obedience.

"You guys take the front, we'll head out back."

The team each took their positions, awaiting their orders.

"Now," Lisbon called, and simultaneously Rigsby and Cho kicked down the front and back doors with a loud crash.

Gun fire rang out through the house, and Van Pelt managed to catch a glimpse of a silhouette running from one room to another. She followed, Cho close behind.

"In here," he called to Lisbon and Rigsby.

The man stood cornered, his back to the wall, gun drawn. He moved his weapon from agent to agent, preparing to fire.

"Jonathon Riley, lower your weapon," Lisbon ordered. When he didn't obey, she aimed her gun at his head. "Put the gun down, or I _will _shoot."

The man began to edge back slowly, and for a moment none of them realised what he was doing. Then Cho notice the window behind him, concealed by a wooden screen.

"Stop," he cried, but this only prompted the man to run. He pushed the screen aside, jumping feet first though the window, glass shattering around him.

Both Rigsby and Lisbon fired, though he avoided their bullets, running off down the front lawn.

He reached the road, sprinting at full speed towards the black SUV parked at the side. He ran past it, barely registering the man seated inside before his face collided with the door as it swung open in front of him.

Lisbon arrived moments later, puffing heavily. "You're under arrest for the murder of your brother," she announced to Riley as she handcuffed him roughly.

She then turned her attention to Jane, smiling smugly at his contribution to the man's arrest.

"Hey, don't look so happy with yourself. You learnt that from me," Lisbon told him as she loaded Riley into the car.


	8. track

**A/N: I can't believe this is only the eighth story so far! It feels like we've been doing this for ages! Anyways, thanks again for your reviews, I love you all! You guys reading these makes this whole thing amazingly awesome! **

**So this next one is set after the season finale of season 4. It's quite a bit different to the others I've done. I hope you like it!**

**(Cliara Aedia is experiencing a few technical difficulties, but she'll post her 'track' chapter as soon as she can!)**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own the brilliant tv show that is the Mentalist**

* * *

**Word -** 'track' **Word Count - **500

The man sat in the small, enclosed room, staring up at the numerous screens surrounding him. At first sight, he certainly did not seem like a particularly tech-savvy guy, but his profession, or more accurately hobby, required it.

The images on the screens ranged dramatically, though the majority of them were streaming live footage from a variety of locations.

Surveillance was important to this man. It was what made him powerful.

One particular screen was positioned to the front of the rest. It was the largest, with the clearest image and most up to date technology. This was the one the man watched the most.

It showed a relatively large room, the camera pointing down from a high perspective From this point, the viewer's attention was immediately drawn to a worn brown couch.

Despite the constant flow of people in and out of the room, it was only the man who often rested on this couch that was of interest. The blonde man, always neatly dressed in a suit and vest, almost always carrying a cup of tea, was the only focus.

The man felt so superior, so in control, whenever he gazed at the screen that held the image of Patrick Jane. They were rivals, equals in many ways. But being ahead always brought a smile.

Every time Jane left his office, he knew. Every time his team were discussing cases, he knew. He could track his every move.

And still Jane didn't even know his real name.

He turned his attention to another screen, this one displaying his email account. It looked basic, unsophisticated, though in reality it was far from it. He could send a message straight to the pretty red-headed girl seated only a couple of feet away from Jane, inside the building of the CBI, and still they wouldn't find him.

But he was not in the mood for petty tormenting. He scrolled down the list of contacts, filled with the names of law enforcement officers, hairdressers, office workers and everyone in between. All his friends, minions for him to use and manipulate.

Suddenly a new email appeared in his inbox with a 'ping'. He skimmed though it quickly, whilst taking in every single detail.

It was yet another update from his friend, buried deep within the CBI.

After the conclusion of his most recent attempt to meddle with Jane's troubled mind, this informant had become increasingly valuable. He needed this presence constantly available to him, ready and willing to take out any threat to his anonymity.

And that threat had finally reared its head. He knew it was only a matter of time before Lorelei would need to be disposed of. That time had come.

And once his minion had killed her, they in turn would also need to be eradicated. It was a vicious cycle, though it was a necessary one.

And to be honest Red John quite enjoyed that power. The power to choose who shall live and who shall die.


	9. marry

**A/N: Thankyou thankyou thankyou to you all for reading! Your views and (especially) reviews are helping distract me from stressing about my flute exam, which is oober close (exactly one week away) and I 'm really not ready for it! So basically it's only thanks to you guys that I'm not completely freaking out! **

**This is probably the most obvious story imaginable for this prompt, but it was cool to write, so I hope you like it!**

**Unfortunately Cliara Aedai is still having some difficulties controlling her computer, but she hopes to post last night and tonight's stories soon!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist**

* * *

**Word - **'marry' **Word Count - **497

The sun was high in the sky as Patrick Jane pulled up at the church. He was dressed in a sleek black suit, a rose in his jacket pocket.

Beside him was Danny, hair still slightly ruffled after the quick change that had just taken place. Just hours before, he had called begging Angela to bail him out after being arrested on another fraud charge. She had been unimpressed to say the least.

Jane pulled a comb out from the centre console, handing it to Danny, who took it gratefully.

He was thankful Danny had come at all. He would be the only family member at the wedding, Angela's or his. Since they'd run away together, neither his father nor her grandparents were particularly interested in them. Even Danny was annoyed, but he'd put those feelings behind him for today.

It was a small affair, just their closest friends. He'd been reluctant to have it in a church given his clear disdain for religion of any kind, but Angela, the traditionalist that she was, had insisted.

He felt his heart flutter as he walked up to the church's entrance. This was the day he'd been looking forward to for years now, his ambition since the day they'd escaped the carnie life together.

This recollection brought with it others.

He remembered the very first time he'd seen her, sitting atop the Ferris wheel with his father, scouring for new marks to target with their cons.

He remembered the numerous times they'd been forbidden from each others company, by both his father and her grandparents.

He remembered the nights they had spent together, sneaking out around midnight to avoid the watchful eyes of their guardians. They would sit and talk for hours, telling each other their deepest hopes and desires.

He remembered the day he'd finally convinced her to escape with him from the life they both resented.

The weeks and months that had followed had not been easy. He'd gambled and performed shows just to keep them alive. They'd stayed in cheap hotels, moving from place to place as different casinos gave him strict instructions not to return.

He didn't blame them, he was an expensive guest.

It was hard, but they had each other, and together they made it through.

As time went by they began to earn a steady income, with her new job as a waitress and he setting himself up as a psychic.

And then finally he'd proposed, on a Malibu beach, lying in the orange glow of sunset. He promised her that once they were married they would live there together, in the most amazing house she could imagine.

He stood by the altar of the church, hands shaking. He had been waiting to marry her for years, and finally that day had come.

Suddenly the doors across the room swung open, and there she was, in her beautiful flowing gown.

Angela. The woman he would spend the rest of his life with.


	10. roundabout

**A/N: I can't believe we're already half way through these stories! Thankyou all for reading and reviewing, thanks to you guys I got my highest number of views so far yesterday! **

**I completely love Lisbon's niece Annabeth, so I wanted to write a story with her in it. This prompt was a bit tricky, but eventually I found a way to include it. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own the Mentalist :(**

* * *

**Word - **'roundabout' **Word Count - **462

The house was bustling with noise as Lisbon set the table. It was rare that she had anyone over to her tiny apartment, and even less common for her little brother to be in town. It had been months since Tommy had been caught up in one of her cases, and she had barely even spoken to him since.

"Aunty Reese!" a young girl's voice called from the next room. Lisbon smiled. Annabeth reminded her so much of herself at that age, only much less troubled.

"Yes Annie?" she called back, finally remembering the nickname her niece preferred.

"You reckon I could come to work with you tomorrow?" she asked as she entered the kitchen/dining room area.

"Why?" queried Lisbon suspiciously.

"It was fun last time. I could help you, Patrick Jane can teach me more tricks and it would be really cool."

"I don't think you leaning any more tricks from Jane is a good idea," Lisbon laughed, remembering the last time. Rigsby had not been impressed when she'd pick pocketed his ID without him even noticing. Jane, on the other hand, had enjoyed it immensely.

"Please," Annie begged.

"Yeah, please," chuckled Tommy as he joined them.

"Why? What are you doing tomorrow?" Lisbon questioned, eyebrows raised.

"Nothin' much," he shrugged. "Just having a break from this nutcase," he joked, ruffling his daughter's hair. She scowled for a moment, but couldn't help grinning.

"And it'd be educational, coz I wanna be a CBI agent when I finish school," Annie continued.

"You don't know that yet, you're only fourteen," Lisbon told her, though she had almost given up trying to change her niece's mind about her future career. She wanted her doing something much less dangerous, and much less time-consuming. But Annie had her heart set on being just like her aunty.

"I _do_ know," she retorted.

"All right, all right, I suppose you can come in just this once, as long as you promise to behave," Lisbon sighed.

"Okay, I promise," Annabeth replied with a huge smile, hugging Lisbon in pleasure.

In a strange, roundabout way, Lisbon was actually glad she'd given in. Even though having Annie there would reduce the chance that she'd get any work done significantly, she was grateful for the extra time to spend with her niece before she left to go back home with her father.

Lisbon turned her attention back to readying their dinner.

'Hey Aunty Reese, you reckon I could borrow some money?" Annie asked.

Lisbon reached into her pocket for her wallet, and was surprised to find it gone. She turned around, and saw Annie, grinning broadly, the wallet clutched in her hand. Tommy burst into laughter.

"I think I'll keep you and Jane separate tomorrow," Lisbon told her with a smile.


	11. health

**A/N: Good evening! Or good morning depending where you live! Or maybe afternoon? Whatever, thanks heaps to everyone for reading these stories! You're support is awesome! Please review if you're enjoying them so far!**

**Disclaimer: As of right now, I do not own the Mentalist, though hopefully that will change in the near future... Not likely though...**

* * *

**Word - **'health' **Word Count - **491

Van Pelt lay on her couch, throat burning, head throbbing. She'd been about to leave for work when a wave of nausea had rushed over her, and she'd been forced to stop and rest.

Her health had been steadily deteriorating during the past week and a half, starting out as just a slight cough, but gradually becoming more and more serious. Just yesterday she had begun to feel a bit better, but overnight it had become considerably worse.

But despite feeling terrible she'd still trudged into work day after day, ignoring Rigsby's pleas for her to stay home and sleep.

She was currently regretting that decision. Maybe if she'd taken a break it would have cleared up by now.

After a couple of minutes the nausea passed, and though she still felt dreadful, she hoisted herself up and headed to work.

* * *

When Van Pelt walked into the bull pen, Cho was the only one present, reading through notes, his face hidden behind a brown manila folder.

He heard footsteps, and lowered the folder, peering over the top. On seeing Van Pelt, he dropped the folder onto the desk and moved over to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, clearly concerned.

He was right to be worried. Her face was incredibly pale, with not even the slightest tinge of colour in her cheeks. She seemed unsteady on her feet, as though it was an effort just to stay upright.

"I'm fine," she croaked almost inaudibly.

Her head had begun to spin suddenly, and she sat down quickly to prevent herself from toppling over.

"I'll get you some water," Cho offered, leaving quickly before she had the chance to decline.

Seconds later he returned, a clear plastic cup filled with water in his hand and Lisbon at his side.

"Van Pelt," Lisbon gasped as she saw just how sick her fellow agent looked. "You need to go home, you look terrible."

Van Pelt took the cup from Cho gratefully, taking a sip and feeling immediate relief. Her throat still ached, but at least it wasn't burning.

"Come on, let me drive you home," Lisbon proposed, and Van Pelt was so exhausted she didn't even bother politely rejecting the offer.

Lisbon helped her to her feet slowly, then they walked together to her car, Van Pelt supporting herself by resting a hand on Lisbon's shoulder.

* * *

They drove in silence, Van Pelt resting her heavy head against the window. The cool glass felt refreshing, and she nearly drifted off as it reduced her head's constant throbbing.

When the car came to a halt outside her house, she was jolted awake by the sudden stillness. Lisbon helped her inside and over to the couch she'd rested on barely an hour before.

"Now sleep, that's an order," Lisbon told her with a sympathetic smile.

Van Pelt gratefully obeyed, snuggling into the cushions with a blanket covering her tired body.

Within seconds she was fast asleep.

* * *

**You reviews would be greatly appreciated! Go on, it's really quick and easy! **


	12. crown

**A/N: This one is incredibly random! I hope you like it anyway... And don't forget to read Cliara Aedai's version!**

**Thanks to absolutely everyone who has been reviewing, you're all completely amazing!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist *cry***

* * *

**Word - **'crown' **Word Count - **498

"And, he dribbles the ball down the court, dodging player after player. He shoots, he scores! And the crowd goes wild!" Rigsby cried as he threw the scrunched up piece of paper into the rubbish bin.

Lisbon rolled her eyes from across the room, and Van Pelt chuckled to herself.

"Really?" Cho questioned, "The bin was about five centimetres in front of you."

"Oh, you think you can do better?" Rigsby challenged, raising his eyebrows.

"Sure," he replied, not threatened in the slightest.

"Three shots each," Jane suggested, rising from his couch to watch the proceedings, a huge smile spread across his face.

He grabbed a piece of paper from the pile in front of him, scrunched it up and threw it to Rigsby.

"Jane! They were my notes from the last case" Lisbon scolded.

"Well, we solved it, didn't we?" he replied offhandedly.

As Rigsby threw, they all watched intently. He missed, and groaned loudly. Cho smirked uncharacteristically.

Jane handed the next 'ball' to Cho, who made a big deal of aiming carefully.

"Oh, hurry up," Rigsby grumbled, and Cho obeyed.

"Score!" Cho cried, as the paper sailed smoothly into the basket.

Rigsby snatched the next sheet of paper from Jane impatiently. He lined up his shot, and threw.

"Yes!" he flung his arms in the air with pleasure.

"Calm down man, you're not winning. It's a draw," Cho informed him as he readied himself for his second shot.

It missed by about 10 centimetres.

"Damn," Cho cursed, as Rigsby did a little jig.

"Rigsby, last shot," Van Pelt informed him as she passed him some paper.

"Good luck," Lisbon told him with a laugh.

He pumped his fist in the air as his final ball sailed in.

"Now if you miss this next shot, I win!" he smiled at Cho.

Jane, Lisbon and Van Pelt, who had all been cheering enthusiastically, fell silent.

As he threw, the scrunched paper ball formed and arch, drifting through the air, as though in slow motion. It made contact with the computer screen behind the bin, rebounded, and clipped the edge before falling to the floor.

"Yes!" Rigsby cheered as he jumped up and down, dancing around the room.

Cho simply rolled his eyes, sitting in the closest swivel chair and picking up his book.

"I am the king of basketball!" Rigsby announced, both arms raised in victory.

"What'd you want, a crown?" Lisbon asked scornfully with the exasperated expression she usually reserved for a certain consultant.

"Yes, actually, I would," Rigsby answered.

Jane grabbed a nearby sheet of paper and stapled it together to form a ring.

"Your Majesty," he bowed, presenting Rigsby with the makeshift crown.

Rigsby paraded around the room with the paper on his head, Van Pelt nearly falling over with hysterical laughter.

"Um…" came a stern voice behind them. Everyone started, turning around to see the Director of the CBI.

"Hi Director Bertram," Rigsby said quickly, pulling the paper from his head.

Cho chuckled inaudibly.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated! **


	13. check

**A/N: A million thankyou's to everyone whose reviewed! Especially those review frequently! I actually love you! I get so ridiculously excited when I get reviews and I go kinda hyper for a while! Although if you asked Cliara Aedai she'd say I'm hyper all the time... But I'm not. I'm just happy. There is a big difference between happy and hyper. Well, maybe not a _big _difference...**

**Anyways, back to the story! This fic is kinda predictable... Anyways, hope you like it! And pretty pretty pretty please review! :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist :(**

* * *

**Word - **'check' **Word Count - **498

Patrick Jane was sitting in a desk chair, a look of concentration etched on his face.

In front of him was Van Pelt's computer, and as he moved the mouse around he seemed incredibly unnatural.

"Look, he's made his move" Van Pelt announced, pointing towards the screen.

She was teaching him to play internet chess, and despite his clear hatred for the machine, he was currently thrashing his opponent.

"What a foolish move" Jane commented, shaking his head. Van Pelt remained silent, as she had thought it was perfectly sensible.

"Checkmate!" Jane cried, throwing his arms in the air. Van Pelt was completely astounded. He'd only moved ten pieces and already won.

"This time you should play an expert game" she suggested.

"What was I playing just then?" he queried, completely oblivious to the workings of the internet version of his favourite game.

"Beginner" she told him with a little smile.

"Well no wonder they were so easy to beat" Jane exclaimed in realisation.

He moved the mouse awkwardly, clicking the button Van Pelt pointed out to him.

There was just one opponent.

"Don Herj, that's an unusual name" Van Pelt commented.

Jane started, moving one of his pawns, and the game began.

* * *

'This guy's good!" Jane noted as he moved his knight more than half an hour later.

Van Pelt had nearly fallen asleep behind him. She had never seen a chess game take this long.

"Jane, this game could take hours" Van Pelt moaned. "Can't you just stop now?"

"No! I have to beat him first" Jane exclaimed. "I've never been beaten at chess. Ever."

"Fine, fine" she gave in.

Moments later a message popped up on the screen.

"What is that?" Jane demanded, annoyed that his game had been disrupted.

"It's the guy you're playing. He messaged you" Van Pelt explained. She reached for the mouse and clicked 'open' for him.

The message was very brief. 'Hello Patrick Jane' was all it said.

For a second there was silence.

"How did he know my name?" Jane asked suspiciously, turning to Van Pelt.

"I don't know, did you put it in at the start?"

"No, I just left it as anonymous" he told her.

He stared at the name on the screen for a few moments, then jumped up from his chair.

"What? What is it?" Van Pelt called as he moved around the room, grabbing a pen and some paper from a nearby desk.

He didn't reply, but returned to her desk, laying out the paper in front of him. He then proceeded to write out his opponents name in capital letters.

DON HERJ

Underneath he rearranged the letters, earning a startled gasp from Van Pelt.

RED JOHN

They didn't speak. Suddenly the computer pinged, then a word flashed across the screen.

'Checkmate.'

Another message popped up onto the screen, and this time Jane rushed to read it.

"You will never beat me. And I'm not just talking about chess."


	14. amateur

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone whose been supporting these story via reviews, favorites, follows or simply views! They all make my day that much more amazing! :D**

**This is one of favourites, I really enjoyed writing it! **

**Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own the Mentalist :(**

* * *

**Word - **'amateur' **Word Count - **499

As evening turned to night, and the carnival lights began to fade, one young boy remained wide awake. It was barely a week after his fifth birthday, and yet he was far too busy for sleep.

"Come on Patrick" his father instructed as the boy flicked though the pack of cards.

"I'm doing my best dad" he replied, disgruntled.

"Well it's not good enough" the taller man retorted. "You're not doing it fast enough, I can _still_ tell when you slip the card up your sleeve. It needs to be much smoother."

"Can't we just finish it tomorrow?" the boy begged. All the other carnie kids had been in bed for hours, and as it neared ten thirty, even some of the adults had retired for the night.

"No!" his father screamed. "You can go to bed once you get this."

"Why can't you just do the show dad?" Patrick asked, staring up longingly at his father's stern, unsmiling face.

"Trust me Patty, a kid like you is gonna make heaps more money than me. Besides, it's about time you started pulling your own weight around here instead of me doing everything for you."

Patrick flicked the cards again with his fingertips, furrowing his brow in concentration. He almost burst into exhausted tears as half the pack fell to the straw covered floor.

"You're such an amateur, can't you do anything right?" his father spat. "You've been learning this trick for over a week now, why can't you get it right?"

The boy stood in silence, staring down at his ratty, torn shoes.

"Well?"

"I don't know" he murmured quietly.

"I think I do. You've been far to interested in the other kids around here recently. Staring at them as they play their pointless ball games. They're just little nobodies, Patty. Just more marks for us to con. But you, son, someday you'll be the star of this whole place."

"But couldn't I play with them, just this once. I don't even know any of their names" the boy pleaded, tears beginning to spill out from behind his eyelids.

"No, you can not! You can't waste your practice time with such unnecessary games. And I don't care if you don't know their names. In fact, I'd prefer that."

Another three attempts later, Patrick still hadn't managed to perfect the technique. Whilst an ignorant bystander would have been fooled entirely by the trick, his father's eyes were much more watchful, noticing even the slightest mistake.

"That's it" he cried, slamming his fist against the door of the trailer. "You're useless! Fine, you can go to bed, but there'll be no breakfast for you tomorrow until that trick is mastered."

Patrick shuffled to his room in silence, tears streaming down his tiny cheeks. The only thing worse than how he felt at that moment was the knowledge that tomorrow would be exactly the same. And the day after. And the day after that.

It was a never-ending cycle of misery.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated!**


	15. soupier

**A/N: Okay, so this is the weirdest most randomest of all the prompts, and I just stared at it for hours trying to think of a story to write. I didn't even know it was a word... So then this happened... really random, I know. But please review anyway!**

**Also, if you've been reading the author's notes before Cliara Aedai's version of these stories, you will most likely be under the impression that I'm the most insane person in existence. This is not true. Cliara Aedai is just the funniest person to annoy in existence. It's not my fault, she should be less entertaining to irritate. **

**Disclaimer: I don't, and never will, own the Mentalist**

* * *

**Word - **'soupier'** Word Count - **417

The CBI kitchen was empty except for the two agents, Van Pelt heating up a cup of soup and Rigsby searching the fridge for something to eat.

"Rigsby, what are you doing?" Van Pelt asked as crashing and rattling noises came from across the room.

"I'm starving, and there is nothing in here for me to eat," he cried, picking up a container with someone's lunch inside and eyeing it longingly.

Van Pelt rolled her eyes. "Do you want some soup?" she offered, holding up a spare sachet.

"Yes please!" Rigsby smiled gratefully, as though she'd just given him a present, or a thousand dollars.

The microwave beeped, and Van Pelt picked up the mug inside. She grabbed a spoon from a nearby draw, stirring it, and sat down on a nearby chair to wait for Rigsby.

Once he'd heated up his own soup, they walked together into the bull pen, which was also completely deserted.

"Where is everyone?" Rigsby asked, looking around at the empty desks.

"Lisbon, Jane and Cho went to talk to a local police officer about a new case," Van Pelt informed him. "Most of the other teams have gone out to get some lunch, because hardly any of them are working on cases at the moment."

They sat in silence, slurping up their soup.

"Your soup is much soupier than mine," Rigsby commented, looking from her cup to his own.

"What? Is that even a _word_?" Van Pelt questioned, eyebrows raised. She peered into his half empty mug. "You didn't put enough water in it," she explained.

"Oh," Rigsby said. "And soupier_ is _a word."

"Really?" Van Pelt asked suspiciously. "I think you just made it up. I'll bet you my soup that it isn't in the dictionary."

Rigsby slurped up the remainder of his soup, then jumped up from his chair at the prospect of earning some more. He searched the entire room, but couldn't find a single dictionary.

"You could just use one on the internet," Van Pelt suggested.

Rigsby sat at his desk, clicking the internet icon about five times in his haste. He then typed 'soupier' into Google and pressed enter.

A smile spread across Rigsby's face as the page appeared on the screen. "Soupier - to resemble soup in consistency," he read smugly.

He held out his hand for his promised reward, and Van Pelt placed the mug in his hand.

"Hey," he called after her as she walked out of the room. It was completely empty.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, and your reviews would be awesome! Thanks :D**


	16. quits

**A/N: Wow! I've reached 50 reviews for the first time ever! I love you guys so so much! Thankyou!**

**Well, today I had my flute exam, which was oober terrifying! But I don't think I did too badly , and now I have heaps more free time coz I don't have to practice any more! Which means more time for fanfic! Yay!**

**This one is a lot more serious than the others, but I hope you like it anyway! And please continue reviewing, reading your comments makes me smile every single time :D And then people look at me funny coz I'm just randomly smiling at the computer screen... But it's worth it! So thanks :)**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own the Mentalist**

* * *

**Word - **'quits' **Word Count - **500

Patrick Jane lay on the mattress in silence. He gazed up at the ceiling, completely unrelated thoughts circling around his brain.

It was one of those nights when he found himself questioning everything he lived for, his whole purpose in life.

That purpose was, of course, to destroy the man who'd murdered his family.

The majority of the time the revenge mission he was so fixated on seemed necessary, a natural reaction to the events that had taken place so many years ago. He's seen it day after day, case after case. People killing whoever had caused their pain or suffering.

But some days, when the families of victims seemed somehow forgiving, he wondered whether the path he'd chosen was the right one.

Though whenever that thought haunted him, he'd convinced himself that if he _hadn't _decided to kill Red John, he'd have killed himself instead. At least this way he was giving Red John's previous victims' families some closure, and preventing any more deaths. Well, he would when he finally succeeded.

But tonight, for the first night in a long time, this justification wasn't enough. When he remembered his family, he couldn't imagine them ever condoning such actions. Angela would have wanted him to move on, to start a new life. And Charlotte would only want her daddy to be happy.

The strange thing was that it was only when he was chasing Red John that he actually felt happy. Well, maybe not happy, but at least not depressed either.

The chase was his distraction. Without it, he'd have nothing to fill his days with, nothing between the mornings and nights of grief and longing.

And the search came with other positives. Without it he wouldn't have bothered working with the CBI. No CBI meant no friends, no reason to hide the emotional wreck he really was behind the cheerful mask.

But even once these positives were taken into account, another question arose. What would happen after his goal was finally reached? What would happen when Red John was dead?

He didn't often let himself consider this eventual challenge. Every ounce of his energy had to go towards actually achieving it first.

One thing was certain, however. No matter how many times he asked himself whether his decision had been the correct one, the answer would always remain constant.

He would never quit.

"Unless he quits first."

He spoke the words aloud, as though making a promise to someone unseen. And it _was_ a promise. A promise to his family, though he didn't believe they could possibly hear him.

If Red John surrendered, he would not intervene. He wouldn't stoop to his lows, preying on those who where unable or unwilling to fight back.

His eyes peered up at the harsh red stain against the white plaster, smiling back at him. And he realised he knew Red John would never quit. He would fight to the death, if that was what it came to.

And secretly, he was glad.


	17. bond

**A/N: Hey! So basically this story is random, yet again... I've noticed I have a tendency to write really crazy stories, but hopefully you guys enjoy them anyway! Your reviews and views have been so amazing, they make me so happy :D And right now I need something to make me happy, coz I'm really stressed! **

**And that's saying something, coz Cliara Aedai is the one who's usually stressed, not me! I'm never stressed! But at the moment I have; an English story due on Monday, and English speech due on Monday,a Geography speech and slide show due on Monday, a Philosophy test on Tuesday, a Science test on Wednesday and then a French Revs essay due the Wednesday after! Phew! **

**But don't worry, I will definitely still find time to update these stories! **

**Disclaimer: Sadly I don't own the Mentalist**

* * *

**Word - **'bond' **Word Count - **406

"What're you guys doing this weekend?" Jane asked as the day drew to a close.

"We might get a case," Lisbon told him.

"Yes, but I mean if we _don't _get a case," he clarified.

"Dunno, paperwork," she answered.

"Really Lisbon? Do you even have a social life," Jane shook his head. When he received no reply, he turned to the rest of the team.

"Sarah and I are going out for dinner Sunday night. We'll probably spend the rest of the time with Ben," Rigsby replied.

"I'm going to hire a movie with my cousin," Van Pelt said.

"Cool," Jane smiled, "which movie?"

"Most likely the new James Bond one."

"Dan dan dan dan dan dan dan dan," Rigsby sung.

"That's Mission Impossible," Cho corrected.

"Whatever."

"Cho?" Jane asked.

"Nothing much."

'Come on, you must be doing something. _You _must have a social life," Jane prompted, throwing a meaningful glance at Lisbon. He received a glare in return.

"Nope, not really," he said with a shrug.

"What about _you_ Jane?" Lisbon queried, raising her eyebrows.

"You know, the usual stuff, hanging out at night clubs, winning heaps of money at the casinos, just livin' life," he smirked.

"Sure," Van Pelt rolled her eyes.

"In reality he's just going to stay here, sleeping on his couch," Rigsby commented.

"Yep, sipping his tea and reading up on the Red John file," Lisbon agreed.

"No. actually, I only do that every second weekend," he retorted playfully.

"Oh, right. Sure," Rigsby nodded sarcastically.

"You know what, I think Jane and Lisbon should do something other than work this weekend," Van Pelt suggested.

'Like what," Lisbon asked sceptically.

"Dunno. Bowling?" Rigsby suggested with a smirk.

"Really?" Lisbon raised her eyebrows.

"Yep, I think we should all go ten pin bowling," Van Pelt agreed.

"Great," Cho groaned.

Lisbon looked equally enthused. Jane, on the other hand, seemed genuinely pleased.

'Okay, sure," he agreed. He then turned to Rigsby. "Bet you ten bucks I can beat you." He nodded.

"Why do you have to turn everything into gambling?" Lisbon questioned.

"And why do you always have to agree?" Cho asked Rigsby.

"How about tomorrow night?" Van Pelt suggested.

Suddenly Lisbon's phone began to ring. She answered, turning her back as she spoke. She spoke quickly, hanging up after about a minute.

"Sorry guys, change of plans. We have a new case," she told them, though she really didn't seem sorry at all.

* * *

**Reviews would be amazing *wink wink, nudge nudge* :D**


	18. pop

**A/N: Hey guys, happy first day of spring! Well, at least it's the first day of spring here in Australia...**

**And also, Happy Birthday to Cliara Aedai's sister! I hope you had an awesome day! (actually, I _know_ you had an awesome day!)**

**Here is yet another really random story...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist, except on DVD!**

* * *

**Word - **'pop' **Word Count - **458

"What is that noise?" Van Pelt asked as she typed away on her computer.

An unusual faint popping noise was coming from outside the bullpen.

'Popcorn," Jane answered, eyes closed as he lay on his couch.

Seconds later Rigsby walked into the room holding a paper bag full to the brim with freshly popped popcorn.

"How did you know it was popcorn when you could barely hear it?" Lisbon questioned.

"I'm magical," he replied, without even the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"Actually he bought it with me this morning," Rigsby corrected.

"Party pooper," Jane grumbled.

"Hey!" Rigsby cried as Cho dug his hand into the bag, pulling out a massive handful of popcorn.

"Thanks," Cho said, completely straight faced.

Van Pelt shook her head, smiling.

Jane snuck up behind Rigsby as the conversation continued, suddenly snatching the whole bag from his hand.

'Jane!" he cried, spinning around quickly, though Jane was already across the other side of the room, munching happily whilst grinning.

"Catch," he called as he threw a piece of popcorn up in the air.

Rigsby ran forward, opening his mouth wide, though didn't quite get there in time.

Another flew across the room, and this time Rigsby only missed by an inch.

This continued until the floor of the bullpen was littered with popcorn.

"Jane, look at this mess. That's enough," Lisbon told him, as though she were scolding a small child.

Jane's expression coincided, matching the sulky frown typical of a three year old.

"One more shot," Rigsby begged, desperate to finally catch one.

"Fine," Lisbon muttered, rolling her eyes, but she was secretly enjoying the entertainment that her two slightly immature colleagues provided.

Yet again, Rigsby missed.

"Man, you're so bad at this," Cho noted. "Even I could do better than that."

He stepped forward to demonstrate and, to Rigsby's displeasure, caught the very first piece thrown at him.

'Great, fantastic. Now you boys need to clean this mess up," Lisbon told then, handing Rigsby a waste paper basket.

The cleaning quickly turned into a food fight when Jane missed the bin he'd been aiming for and instead hit Rigsby on the nose.

"Stop it," Van Pelt squealed between giggles. Lisbon too couldn't help but laugh.

After picking up the last few pieces, Jane retrieved the popcorn bag from where it had been resting on the far table.

"Thanks Jane," Rigsby said as he reached out to take his snack, though at the last second the bag was whisked away from his reach.

He chased Jane around the room before cornering him near the worn brown couch.

"Jane," he commanded, laying his palm open expectantly.

Rather than giving in, Jane reached up as high as he could and emptied the entire contents onto Rigsby's head.

* * *

**Okay, so clearly everyone was on a massive sugar high during this fic! Or more likely I was... But it was heaps of fun to write! Please review and read Cliara Aedai's version!**


	19. fancy

**A/N: I can't believe this is the second last story! I'm really sad actually :( This has been heaps of fun! **

**Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, I actually love you guys!**

**Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own anything :(**

* * *

**Word - **'fancy' **Word Count - **484

Van Pelt sat alone in the restaurant, keeping to herself. Every now and again she treated herself to a night out, an idea which seemed appealing every time.

Until she actually got there, that is.

At first she would just feel hungry, ready for a good meal. She'd order a glass of wine and some food, but once she received it the novelty wore off, leaving memories Van Pelt would have been happier to forget.

Sitting in another restaurant, much more impressive and fancy than this one. Though she wasn't alone.

Across the table was the charming, handsome face of Craig O'Laughlin. They'd laugh, smile and flirt throughout the night, enjoying each others company.

She couldn't count the number of times they'd done this together. It was so many, so many nights she'd trusted him. So many nights she'd been alone with him. So many nights he could have killed her.

When she thought about him now, it was impossible to imagine he'd been Red John's spy. He'd seemed so genuine, so loving. And yet he'd murdered two officers, shot Lisbon and burnt a man alive. All for Red John.

After the day she'd been forced to end his life, so many questions had remained unanswered. But the one she most longed to know the truth about she knew she never would.

Did he ever really love her?

Was everything she'd thought they'd shared just an act, a way to spy on the team? Had every moment meant absolutely nothing to him?

She often questioned how she'd been tricked so easily. Had it been because she was so desperate to prove to Rigsby that she had moved on?

But regardless of anything, she knew one thing for sure. She would never trust anyone so quickly again. She hadn't dated anyone since his death, and sometimes she felt like she never would. No matter how nice and honest a guy appeared, she would always have that nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that it was all fake.

As she sat in the restaurant, she imagined a life spent alone, with no one to love. This was the life she would live if she didn't get over her irrational fear that if she loved, she would be betrayed.

She knew she couldn't bear such a life. She realised then that she had to forget about O'Laughlin. She had to move on, and learn to trust again. Sure, she would be much more cautious than she'd been previously. But that might actually be for the better.

As she peered around the restaurant, a young man walked in alone. As he scanned the room, their eyes met. He made his way towards her, and she felt her heart skip a beat. She forced herself to push down her instincts and take a chance.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked.

"Not at all."


	20. worry

**A/N: Tonight is the last story! I'm really sad :( These have been so much fun to write!**

**I just want to thank every single person whose read and reviewed these, your support has been amazing!**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own the Mentalist**

* * *

**Word - **'worry' **Word Count - **498

Jane sat in his little attic room, gazing subconsciously out the window across the rooftops, all the way out to the horizon.

A knocking sound from behind startled him out of his daze, and he turned abruptly to see Lisbon sliding the door to one side.

"Hey Jane," she greeted, making her way over to him.

"Hi," he replied without much enthusiasm.

"What's up?" she asked, sounding slightly concerned. She'd noticed a change in his behaviour of late, and though she'd let it go for a while, she felt it was time to address it.

"The sky," he answered with a smirk, not even pretending to take her seriously.

"Alright then, don't tell me," Lisbon grumbled as she sat down on his makeshift bed, crossing her arms on her chest in annoyance.

Jane returned his attention to the window, watching as the clouds moved gradually across the evening sky. He ignored Lisbon's presence for a while longer, but eventually he turned, figuring the conversation would happen no matter how long he tried to avoid it.

"Lisbon, it's fine, don't worry about it," he told her as he walked towards the door.

"Please tell me Jane," Lisbon begged, knowing full well the consequences of his previous secrets.

"It's not really anything, I'm probably just being paranoid," he said, though his expression told her otherwise.

"Seriously, enough. Tell me right now," she demanded.

For a few moments he stared down at the ground, wondering how he would explain it to her.

"Red John left a package at my door. I haven't opened it yet."

"What?" Lisbon gasped, stunned. This initial shock was quickly overcome by anger, just as Jane had feared. "Why didn't you tell me straight away?!"

"I dunno," Jane shrugged.

"Where is it?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

He walked over to the corner of the room, picking up a cardboard box that had been concealed in the shadows. He handed it to Lisbon, taking a seat next to her on the bed.

For a second she hesitated, considering the possibility that the box contained a bomb. After a moments thought she concluded that Red John had plenty of opportunity before now to kill Jane. Slowly and carefully she peeled back the tape holding the top of the box closed.

She pulled the flaps back, revealing a layer of crepe paper. Moving this aside, she peered down to see the object inside.

It was a single disk inside a clear case, with no label or writing indicating what it contained.

"What do you think it is?" she asked him.

But he didn't need to think. He knew what was recorded on the disk. Red John was all about prolonging the suffering, that was the whole purpose of his interaction with him. And there was only one thing he could think of that could possibly cause him as much sorrow as he had felt on that night so many years ago. A recording of it.

* * *

**A/N: And that's the end. *cry* I'm really sad that these are finished, but Cliara Aedai and I need to take a break! **

**We're both entering this competition they told us about at school to write a 10,000 to 20,000 word story. That's a lot of words!**

**Plus we're both going on holidays! So excited! Not together, though our planes do leave 5 minutes apart! And that wasn't even planned! Biggest coincidence ever right?! **

**So I'm going to the US, and I am so ridiculously excited! Yayayayayayay! And we're (my family and I) going on a tour of Warner Bros. Studios, where the Mentalist is filmed! So we might get to see the set! Or maybe even them actually filming! OMG! And we're going to Disneyland, and LA, and New York, and everywhere! It's going to be so completely amazingly brilliantly excitingly amazing!**

**Well, clearly I am little bit excited...**

**But after the competition's finished and we're both back home in Australia, we'll most likely restart these stories. And we'd love to take requests for one word prompts from you guys! So, just let either Cliara Aedai or myself know if you have an idea for a word! We'll both write a story for the first 20 we get, and if we don't get enough we'll come up with some ourselves too :) **

**So pretty please review, and leave us any ideas you have for prompts!**

**Thanks again for your support! I love you guys so much! :D**


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